Beyond Walls
by Tree-Line
Summary: A bizarre plague has broken out among the commonfolk who reside behind the four stone walls surrounding the castle city of Creos, and Sollin, hand to King Bruscar, works to unravel its mysteries. A/N: I don't know how often this will update! This story is almost always on my mind and I work on it fairly often in small amounts, but be prepared for long periods without updates.
1. Chapter 1: Sollin, The King's Hand

The massive halls outside the throneroom were silent more often than not, so when the sound of footsteps did echo through them, the king could hear them clearly. By the time the huge ornate knocker was used, he was already prepared for a guest. "Enter."

The door slowly swung open, revealing the origin of the footsteps; a man, dressed finely, with shoulder-length black hair that fell in waves, and a beard that looked as though he had simply forgotten to shave for a few days.

"Sollin." The king said, "News?"

Sollin half-jogged across the spacious room and knelt briefly, a formality, before rising. "Yes, m'lord." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead with it. "The people are growing more restless by the day."

"Yes, yes… Any _new_ news, Sollin." The king spun a fat finger in the air, _hurry up._

"Erm… yes, m'lord. A man made it over the outermost wall, had not hit the ground afterward before being… well, killed, m'lord, by the guards."

"Good men, our guards. How did he make it over?"

"It seems he crafted a makeshift ladder, m'lord." Sollin shifted uneasily.

The king let out a single, loud laugh. "From what? His house?"

"Yes, m'lord. He used, uh… quite a bit of his house."

"Hm. Any family?"

"Yes, m'lord. A wife and a daughter. Now homeless. Shall I commence preparations to rebuild their home?" Sollin asked.

"No, no. Let them learn from the mistakes of their family. Maybe they'll tell others why they're homeless." The king thought for a moment, then said, "Honestly, Sollin, what do these people expect? Last year, when that woman climbed over using her clothes as rope, what did she expect to receive upon entering the walls? A pat on the back and a new home inside?"

"I'm sure I don't know, my king." Sollin bent his head slightly as he spoke, "There is one other item, m'lord."

The king gestured to him, _go ahead._

"The clerics told me of a er… new disease amongst the commoners that has been circulating. You'll be happy to know that the body of the man was thoroughly checked and is clean. However, the clerics are suggesting something is done about this disease should something like this happen again."

The king's eyebrows raised slightly, then fell back. "Interesting. Symptoms?"

Sollin reached into his bag and produced a paper, "Hair loss, dead skin, weight loss, and… insanity." He read aloud.

The king now sat upright, at full attention. "Now, Sollin. This may seem a strange question, but I need to you find something out for me. This dead skin, what… color is it?"

Sollin saw fear in the eyes of his king for the first time. It put him much further on edge."I was actually told that information, m'lord. Apologies for withholding-"

"Just _tell_ me, Sollin!"

"Green on some, pink or orange on most. M'lord."

The king looked down. "It's too early. It's not time…" his ears began to ring and his vision blur.

"M'lord?" Sollin took a step forward.

"Leave me." The king stood, "The clerics are to stay within the walls from now on. Nothing from the village is to be brought in. Go."

Sollin knelt and left, pulling the large door closed as he went.

* * *

Sollin raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight beating down over Castle Creos. The outside of the palace proper was nearly as extravagant as the interior. Lined on either side of the red-carpeted walkway were rare plants and massive gardens, as well as spear-wielding knight sentries whose armor, though very beautiful, wouldn't protect against so much as a pebble without crumpling like paper.

Sollin worked closer to King Bruscar than almost anyone else, but in truth, he hated him. Behind four stone walls, each thicker and taller than the last, lied the true land of Creos. Miles and miles of poorly-constructed shanties, given just enough food and water to survive, and beyond that, nothing. Flat, dry desert stretching out endlessly in every direction. The people of Creos starved and died from the heat while Bruscar and his people hid comfortably in paradise. It was sick.

But Sollin was one man. And despite his training, he was working stripped of weapons as an errand boy for the man he hated most.

But that day his king had acted strangely. Sollin had worked for him for a very long time, and not once did he ever see him so much as flinch. But that day he saw true fear in the leader's eyes. Something about the disease. He knew about it? Too early? What did he mean? And commanding the clerics not to help? Too many questions.

He thought these things as he handed off the information, hastily scrawled onto a piece of parchment, to the clerics standing outside the healing tent, but was brought back to reality when one of them demanded, "The people need our help now more than ever before! That awful king, what is he thinking!?"

"I don't know. The king acted… strangely when he told me to bring you this information. I believe there's something unseen at play here." Sollin responded.

"Well, it had better make itself seen before more are claimed by this disease." another cleric spoke.

"Agreed." Sollin nodded simply and walked away, letting his mind wander once more to the mystery that was beginning to form. As he did, the sun began to set, showering the vast white-gold city in an orange hue.

* * *

Sollin wasn't called back to the throneroom that evening. The unease grew in his stomach. Sollin hated Bruscar but for him not to call on him for this long was unheard of. He considered checking in on him, but ultimately decided it was likely in his best interest to remain uninvolved in… whatever was happening.

Sollin's home, a loft of sorts, rested over the chapel in Creos, where the clerics who were not working at the healing tent came to serve the Way of White. Sollin thought of himself as non-religious. He lived there simply because it was very near the castle, making it easy to tend to the king quickly.

He rested his head on his writing desk, worrying at the anxiety in his stomach. As he did, he looked out the window above the desk. From his perch, he could see out into the shanty town that Bruscar so loved to grind beneath his boot.

Watching the torches flicker, with the moon hanging low overhead, it looked almost peaceful. But he knew that behind those walls was nothing but suffering. As he looked on, the unease in his stomach turned to anger.

* * *

The morning bells rang and shafts of sunlight shone through the window in Sollin's humble room. As he pulled himself from his bed (he had slept little, choosing instead to ruminate on the previous day's events), Sollin realized that for the first day since the War ended and the royal army disbanded, he had nothing to do.

Sollin essentially worked on-call. If the king never sent for him, he didn't need to show himself. However, most of, if not all of the time, he would ask Sollin for something and end it with, "and report back to me when you're finished." And when he did as was asked, the king would ask for something more, thus repeating the process.

Today, however, there was no call. Not that this surprised Sollin particularly, but it nevertheless worried him.

He made his way downstairs after getting dressed, to the chapel proper. Sollin had decided he would find some breakfast and then figure out how he would be spending his first day off in years. Assuming the king didn't call for him. Though, at this point, he had no reason to think he would. Something was going on.

The smell of incense filled his nose as Sollin stepped out into the grand marble-floored room of the cathedral. Men dressed in white were scattered all over the large hall, some reading, some swinging incense on chains, and others just chatting. There were lines and lines of pews, all pointing toward the north end of the room. Above it all hung a great chandelier, all white in color.

"Sollin."

Sollin jumped as he heard his name from a voice mere inches behind him. He turned.

"Greyval. You scared me half to death!" Sollin said with a relieved sigh.

Greyval was a large man, and a man of the Way of White as well. He stood head and shoulders over Sollin, who wasn't short himself, and easily had a hundred pounds on him. His bright blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. His face, though usually jolly, was very stern.

"Apologies, friend. Though I didn't mean to startle you, it's with good reason I call on you. Let's speak outside." Greyval said, his face unchanging.

Once outside the church, Greyval pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead with it. "Hot today."

Sollin laughed nervously. "Hot everyday in Creos."

"Yes." Replied Greyval. "Tell me, Sollin. What know you of this disease spreading among the commonfolk? Those outside the walls?"

Sollin was taken aback briefly. "Little." he replied. "I know the symptoms. I know the king knows more than we do of it."

Greyval nodded. "I expected as much. Being commanded to stay in the walls… in my memory, it's never happened. Those outside are to stay outside, yes, but to keep the insiders in is new. It must have something to do with this disease."

"My thoughts exactly. When I spoke to the king about it, he was visibly shaken. I don't often agree with King Bruscar-"

Greyval laughed. "An understatement to behold, Sollin. How many nights have we spent drinking while you rattle off your complaints of the man?"

"Fair enough. The point is, I have never seen him scared before, but when I reported to him on this disease, he was."

"That is very interesting... Sollin, I'm sure it isn't hard for you to imagine the frustration we feel, as men of healing, to not be able to heal these poor sickened people. It is a great privilege to live inside these walls, but it's a mere roll of the dice that we weren't born out there, yes?" Greyval said, gesturing to the wall.

"I sense you've a point to make, Greyval."

"I do indeed. Could I trouble you with a slightly odd request, my friend?"

Sollin lowered his eyebrows. "Depends on what it is, I suppose."

"It's nothing sinister, trust me. Can you recall the exact words the good king spoke when he gave you the information he did yesterday?"

"Erm, I suppose." Sollin said, retrieving a piece of parchment from his bag. "It reads, 'The clerics are to stay within the walls from now on. Nothing from the village is to be brought in.' That's all."

"Good. Grand, indeed." Greyval said, his smile returning to his face.

"Is it, then?" Sollin asked, one eyebrow raised.

"It is true, then, that we clerics are disallowed from leaving these walls." Greyval said. "Yes, we clerics. And we clerics alone."

Sollin's face lit with understanding. "Ah, I see what you're getting at now, my friend."

"Yes, I'm glad of it." the cleric spoke, "One of my colleagues, a man of the east, has developed a tale that he believes should help those suffering of this illness a great deal. We need only to find the right man to take it to those outside these walls." Greyval slapped a large hand on Sollin's back and smiled at him.

"...Me? Greyval I-I can't." Sollin ducked under the larger man's hand and backed away slightly. "I've never done anything like that before, you know that. Doesn't it take study? I'm no cleric-"

"Precisely! You are no cleric." Greyval retorted, walking toward him, "That is precisely why we need you to do this. We do not expect you to heal the whole of the shantytown. You will simply be a scouting party, one to get a rough estimate of how many have fallen ill, before we get more people to help."

"How am I even to use the miracle? I keep no gods."

"It's a very simple tale developed for exactly that- those who keep no gods or have weak faith in those they do keep. It will be simple for you. We ask you only of this." Greyval said.

Sollin thought a moment.

"...Sollin, remember what I told you mere moments ago?" Greyval said. "It's by a roll of the dice we do not end up as they. It is _my_ responsibility as a cleric of the Way of White to help these people, yes, but it is _your_ responsibility as a human being to do the same. These people have been mistreated for as long as anyone cares to remember, and now Bruscar intends to drive the knife yet deeper into their hearts. We cannot let him."

Sollin looked up, meeting Greyval's gaze. "...Very well. I'll take this miracle to the people. Heal them. Perhaps I'll teach it to the faithfuls outside, and I'll keep a tally of those stricken ill. But, Greyval, I've no intention of becoming a cleric. I'll do this once only."

"That is all I ask of you, Sollin. Thank you, my friend." Greyval bowed his head.

"What do I need to do to prepare? And when do I set out?"

"Earliest possible. Tomorrow, likely. As for preparation, it's a rather short miracle, but will need memorizing all the same. We should spend today studying it."

Sollin nodded and followed Greyval back inside the cathedral. As the door slammed closed behind them, a man in a hooded cloak crept from behind the corner and slinked away.

* * *

"Good. Very grand, Sollin." Greyval said, clapping Sollin on the back after he had cast the miracle on a practice dummy. "I'm glad to see that your training yesterday hasn't worn off. You're ready."

"Agreed." Sollin said, standing from his kneeling position. "I don't believe any more delaying is needed. I'll leave now."

"Yes." Greyval said. "Have you been outside the walls before, Sollin?"

"Not for many years." said Sollin.

"Even still I'm sure I needn't tell you that life outside is far different from within the walls." Greyval said, "Be on guard."

"Of course." Sollin replied, clasping his cape around his neck and raising his hood. "Thank you Greyval. I will return at sundown."

"Be sure that you do." Greyval said, his smile wide as ever. "You do a righteous thing today, Sollin. Should evil rear its head, remember that."

Sollin nodded and left.

As he walked to the gate of the castle town, he felt that he was being watched, but when he turned, the street behind him was empty.

Sollin was unnerved, so he made a detour. The winding roads of Creos were easy to get lost in, but Sollin knew his way. He could only hope that his follower didn't.

After some time, Sollin's shadow had not let up. And whoever it was that followed him was making it very obvious that he was doing so, making noise and slinking out of sight at the last moment. Sollin thought it couldn't be on accident, as he hadn't been able to shake them. This was someone who knew what they were doing, they wanted to be seen. So Sollin would abide them.

He needed somewhere quiet. He looped back around to the castle. He knew this area best out of the entire city, and the least traveled places therein.

The castle graveyard was completely empty, save for the ravens that stood watch over the tombstones. Sollin stood with his back against a withered tree and spoke.

"Whoever is following me, I've had enough." Sollin called. "Come out and face me."

A rather high-pitched and annoying laugh rang out in the silent graveyard. "Very well observed, friend. Well observed indeed!"

A finger tapped Sollin's shoulder from above, and then down from the tree leapt a tall man in a brown hooded cloak. "Greetings."

"Who are you?" Sollin demanded, putting one hand on the pommel of his sword. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the man laughed again, "I know of your quest. Yes, a noble quest indeed. I merely want to help."

"...Help?" Sollin asked, "If that were true, why would you not have just asked?"

"That's not exactly the kind of help I provide. I prefer taking the backseat. Helping from the shadows. Had you simply ignored me, you wouldn't have even noticed me helping." The man laughed a shrill laugh again.

"I don't need your help, stranger."

"Oh, but I think you do. You don't know what it's like behind those walls. I do."

"...Who are you?"

"A friend. You can trust me. We two; we're in this together, now, cleric."

"I'm not-" Sollin started, but before he could finish, the man took off and hopped a wall, disappearing from sight.


	2. Chapter 2: Petr of the Outer Wall

"Sollin," the vice-captain of the guards saw the man approach the gate of the shortest wall, the gate that lead to the outside. Sollin could hear pounding and shouting from the great doors. "Bring you news from the king? The commoners' unrest grows."

"Even I have not seen the king in some time, Sir Petr. I don't know what's going on, but I plan to find out. Today I work under a different mantle to do just that." Sollin said, dropping his hood.

"Is that so?" Petr said, growing suspicious. Sir Petr was a tall, very skinny man with a face that came to a sharp point in his chin. He wore grey officer's clothes adorned with a great many meaningless medals. "And what does any of this have to do with me?"

"I need to go outside. Outside the wall."

Petr was taken aback. "Why ever would you want that? I'd call it a death sentence, but your fate will likely be worse if you leave, Sollin. The king has demanded that we stay inside."

"The king has demanded that _clerics_ stay inside, Petr." Sollin replied, "I'm no cleric, if that's what you're worried about."

"You twist the good king's words, errand boy." Petr spat, "He specified clerics because no one else is stupid enough to leave. Or so I thought."

Sollin sighed, then looked up. "Petr, I am the king's hand. I have authority over you, and your men, and even Captain Rheannon. So are you going to open the door or must we make this ugly?"

Petr's face flushed with anger, then quickly calmed. "Very well." He said calmly, adjusting his jacket and hat. "I'll accompany you."

"Excuse me?!" Sollin demanded.

"I don't trust you, Sollin. You mock the crown and the good king. I don't know what you plan to do once outside this wall, but I won't let you do it in secret."

"Absolutely out of the question, Petr." Sollin retorted, "Surely I need not remind you what I _just_ said. I have authority-"

Petr approached Sollin until he was very close, and spoke in a hushed yet angry tone. "You may have _authority_ over me, but my _responsibility_ and my _duty_ demand that I watch over the denizens of Creos. Surely _I_ need not remind _you_ that you are among that number."

Sollin began to strike back, but swallowed his words. No use getting caught up in a fight when there's work to be done. "You're beyond reasoning, then." he took a step back from the guard, "Fine, then. As long as we can get moving now."

Petr pointed his nose upward with an insufferable grin of victory. "Quite. Let's go, then." he looked up to the guards at the top of the wall around the gate, spinning a finger upward. "Open it up, men!" he called.

The massive wooden doors creaked open slowly. On the other side, guards had dropped down to hold back the commoners, who were still desperately pushing against them for a chance at entry.

Swathes of orange dust blew in, nearly catching the two men in the eyes. When he looked back up, Sollin saw the outside for the first time in years, and though it was no different now as it was then, he was still disgusted anew. Dirty, emaciated men, women, and children making a foolhardy attempt at escaping hell into the paradise behind the walls.

"Animals." mumbled Petr, "Filthy animals, all of them."

The crowd of shantytown citizens split in front of the two as they walked, and the doors closed behind them.

Sollin said nothing, quietly eyeing each one as they passed. None of them seemed infected.

After a few moments of walking, they were outside the crowd that surrounded the great doors at all hours. When they had escaped the wide, staring eyes of the people, Petr spoke as they walked.

"So," he said, "If I'm to be coming with you I should know of your mission. Tell me, Sollin. What drove you to this?"

"I'm sure it won't affect you any, Petr." Sollin said, looking around for any people who seemed sick rather than meeting Petr's gaze. "If you insist on escorting me, then so be it, but let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Petr scowled at him, but he of course didn't notice. "Very well. It will become clear with time, I'm certain. Are you expecting someone?" he asked, noticing Sollin's near-frantic glancing.

"Mm. Expecting isn't exactly the right word." Sollin replied, still distracted.

"Looking for, then?"

"Closer."

"Someone with that plague, is it, then?"

Sollin glanced at him for a moment, but said nothing.

"Oh, I knew it." Petr said, low and angry. "Why would you want to leave for the first time in over a decade mere days after the Good King closed the doors? I just _knew_ it."

Sollin kept walking and looking, saying nothing, but the anger was building in him.

"You would do anything to undermine what King Bruscar demands. Why he picked you as his hand is so far beyond me." Petr continued, "That's what I dislike so about you, you're- you're-"

Sollin turned, the anger finally letting itself out, "What, Petr? What am I!?"

But Petr wasn't there.

* * *

"Petr! Petr!" Sollin called into the dusty alleyways that crisscrossed the shantytown. "Damn him!"

He jogged through crowds of people as he called, pushing his way through, but continuing to keep an eye out for infected people. He began to wonder how much of an epidemic it really was if he had yet to see anyone sick.

"Petr, you horse's ass, where are you?" he called out a final time.

"Fine. Very well. If he's to get himself lost, it's none of my concern. I didn't want him here anyway." Sollin said to himself.

"Missing your friend, are you, cleric?"

Sollin spun around with his hand on his sword. Behind him stood the hooded figure from the graveyard. "You again."

He laughed. "Me again. Sollin, was it?"

Sollin didn't respond.

The man laughed again. "Fine fine. I have good news for you, regardless. Interested?"

Sollin took his hand off his sword. "Spit it out."

"To the point, I like that." he said, "I saw that you and your friend were having a spat, and figured you wanted him out of your hair, that's all."

Sollin's eyebrows lowered. "You… took him?"

"I did indeed!" the man laughed, "I thought it was what you wanted, but, hehe, I've made mistakes before."

"Where is he, then?"

The man waved a finger in the air, "Ah ah ah, not yet. I have yet more good news. But, I think you'll need to see it to believe it. Follow me, cleric!" he began to bound away.

* * *

Sollin had trouble keeping up with the man. He was very thin, jumping almost weightlessly rather than running. The two men sped through the winding streets and alleyways of the shantytown, past legions of filthy, horribly skinny people. The king's hand wanted badly to spare them a moment's glance, checking them for the telltale dead skin of the plague. But he dared not remove his eyes from the nimble man running in front of him.

Sollin watched as he zipped around a corner, and, desperate to not lose him, he sped up and rounded the edge of the building only to come immediately face to face with the shadow of a man. It was all he could do not to plow headlong into him. He, however, stood stock still, unflinching from the near collision.

"We're here." The man said calmly as Sollin doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

"We're… where…" he replied, gasping.

The man took a few steps to his right and lifted a tattered old cloth hanging in front of a doorway. "Here."

Sollin stood up straight and walked in.

Inside was a large, dark, but almost entirely empty room, that is, except for the smattering of people scattered throughout. Some talking, some sleeping, some just sitting, staring at the two as they walked in.

"I'm back!" said the hooded man, "And I've brought back a little helper… a cleric."

All eyes in the room turned then. There was faint murmuring. Sollin thought about correcting him, but if this was his way through to these people, he would go along with it.

"I'm looking for those with a new disease… one that creates patches of dead skin on the body. Are any of you suffering from this?" Sollin announced to the people. "I'm here to help you. I've come with a miracle that will soothe your suffering." He heard the man laugh quietly behind him.

Everyone in the room started to move toward him. As they passed into the light from the open doorway, Sollin saw the dead skin on them. One by one, as they got closer, all of them were missing hair and had patches of dead skin all over them. Sollin's mouth opened.

Behind him, the man laughed a bit louder. "Yes, all of us here were inflicted with this… disease, as you call it." He stepped out in front of Sollin. "Even me." He unbuttoned the front of his tunic and showed Sollin. His was the worst of all. The dead skin had nearly encompassed his chest, but was still in distinct sections. Almost like a checkerboard.

"Dear gods…" Sollin said.

The hooded man laughed once more. "Yes, quite." He gripped the sides of his hood and lowered it down, revealing a completely bald head, and almost unnaturally wide, toothy smile.

Sollin recognized the man immediately. "You… you're him." He said, voice starting to shake. "The man… who tried to jump the wall." The man started to laugh. "You… you're _dead_. I saw your corpse."

The man's laugh cut short. "Correct. And you're still seeing it!"

"This is unnatural… are you a monster? What are you?" Sollin said, backing away with fear in his voice.

"I… no, _we_ … are undead. But please. You can call me Patches."


End file.
